Take me or leave me
by Yero my hero
Summary: This is my first RENT fic. At first it appears to be a Maureen is dumped by Joanne and turns to Mark fic, but there's a twist.
1. Chapter 1

Okay, this is my first RENT fic, so I say, Hello! I am currently rather new to the idea of RENT fiction, and though I know that the whole "Maureen gets dumped by Joanne and turns to Mark" fiction seems to be in abundance, I don't plan this fic to be that way, though it may appear to be only that at first glance. And also, to try and narrow down the confusion, this chapter is going to switch between Mark and Maureen's POVs, separated by little dots. :D

But as this is my first of this type of fic, reviews would be great. And also this is my first attempt to write in the "I/me" form, when normally I stick to "him/her," so tell me also what you think of that.

* * *

Walking out into the warm afternoon sunlight, I paused. People were rushing by on the streets, talking and laughing and hurrying to business meetings in intimidating office buildings just around the corner. The air seemed warm and inviting, a subtle promise of hope that contributed to the atmosphere—making the woman across the street walk with more pride, and the young investor down the lane smile indiscreetly at everyone. 

I felt out of place in this land of hopes and dreams, all of mine having just been stamped before my eyes. I set off down the sidewalk, weaving between pedestrians and biting my lip. Trying to escape this land of foreign dreams in which I didn't belong.

• • • • •

Reaching the loft, I promptly flung myself unceremoniously upon the downtrodden couch, emitting a dramatic sigh. "No place like home."

"You're telling me." Roger stretched and made his way towards the kitchen. "Want a beer?"

"Please."

Roger flopped onto the couch beside me. "Here, Marky. Drink wisely—it's the last one."

Taking a long sip, I sighed. "Think Maureen and Joanne will get over this one?"

Roger looked over at me carefully. After a moment he said, "They always do."

"Yeah. And Maureen always leaves again. Speaking of, she hasn't called yet. Think she's out getting wasted?"

"Probably. I'll look for her when I go out. I'm supposed to meet Mimi and Collins in ten," he said, glancing at his watch, "wanna come?"

My eyes flicked to the window and the darkening sky. "Nah. She might call."

A shadow of something passed over Roger's face before he turned to go. "All right. See you tonight."

I mumbled a reply as he left, banging the door closed behind him. After a moment, growing restless, I retrieved the camera from the table. The last few clips played back; flashes of champagne glasses and smiling faces. "So much for a wedding video," I mumbled, switching off the camera and returning it to the table.

"SPEEEEEEEAK!" The voices resonated about the quiet stillness of the room, jerking me from an uncomfortable sleep.

"Mark?" At the sound of Maureen's voice I shook the sleepiness from my head, rising and wobbling to the phone. "M-Mark? It's Maureen…"

"Hey Maureen."

"I need a place to stay Marky…Pookie…" her voice slurred and trailed off—she had quite obviously had too much to drink.

"Maureen, where are you?"

"At the—uhm. By the Life Café. At that bar…"

"I'll be there in a minute."

Grabbing my jacket, I hurried down the stairs of the loft and out the door. The night air whipped at my hands and I spent a moment regretting not having grabbed a thicker coat.

• • • • •

"Hey babe. Wanna dance?"

A whiff of whiskey-polluted air rushed into my face as a man fumbled into the stool beside me. I was in absolutely _no condition _to put up with this right now.

Shooting him a small glance, and trying but failing to mask my disgust, I uttered a small "No."

I noticed suddenly the rough hand trailing along my thigh. "Come on, baby, let's get out of here." His beard grazed against my ear as he spoke, sending tight shivers down my neck. Pulling away, I stumbled out of the stool and against the wall, using it as support to clamber out the door.

Mark arrived a few minutes later, looking shocked. "Maureen, honey, why are you outside? You'll freeze." He flung his jacket about my shoulders and I felt a hand trail around my back, helping me along. "Let's get you home."

"There was this asshole… wanted to dance…" I managed weakly.

"Shh. It's alright."

After a few minutes of silence we reached the apartment, Mark half-carrying my up the stairs and leading me to the couch.

"I'll go get you some blankets," he offered gently, and I nodded. After a few moments he returned, wrapping a blanket around my back and taking my hands in his to warm them.

"Mark?" He looked up gently. "Do you think it's over with Joanne?"

I heard my voice break, and he pulled me into his arms. I sobbed into his shoulder, the tears coming in waves, overpowering all thought. After a while the crying subsided, and I forgot the meaning of them, forgot everything outside the comforting embrace.

Mark pulled away and wiped the tears from my cheeks. "You okay?"

The moonlight was glinting off of his eyes, which were full of concern. I collapsed into him, pushing him back onto the couch and pressing my lips to his.

For a moment he seemed surprised, but eventually gave in. I could tell he wanted it, and there was a strong desire in me to feel loved and needed. And Mark seemed to love me at that moment more than Joanne ever had, seemed to need me more than Joanne had ever needed.

And I needed that. So I let him.

- - -

Roger whistled in surprise as he entered the door, seeing Mark and Maureen asleep together on the couch in various states of undress. "Didn't see that one coming."


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, I know I don't update this a lot. To be completely honest, Wicked is my obsession and priority. However, I will try and update this periodically. This is something of a filler chapter, and I believe that the plot may become obvious here. Maybe not for everyone, so if you could refrain from guessing in a review, that would be good. You can PM me if you want, I don't mind. :) Oh, and also, no. This is _not_ Mark/Roger.

* * *

Her first thoughts of the morning pertained to the relentless throbbing of her head. _Damn, what _did _I do last night? _Groggily, she opened her eyes. Which was a mistake in more ways than one. 

"Ow." For one, the bright sunlight shining through the window made her head hurt, if possible, even worse. And the small glance before her eyes had clamped shut again revealed an all-too-familiar face.

Uncertainly, she cracked open her eyelids again and let out a low groan. _Really, Maureen. Mark?_ Mentally she kicked herself, grimacing. He opened his eyes and deliberately hid his smile from her, busying himself with falling off the couch and stumbling to the bathroom.

Rolling onto her back, she groaned loudly and flung an arm over her face dramatically. She could hear hushed voices and a stifled giggle from the kitchen, but couldn't bring herself to look.

"Here, Reeny. You must have a killer headache," Roger commented, tossing a bottle of Advil to the couch, where it bounced to the floor, clattering loudly.

Maureen sat up slowly and retrieved the bottle. "Thanks Roger." Glancing towards the kitchen, she saw Mimi at the table, smiling mischievously. _What? _Looking down at herself, she noted that she wasn't fully clothed, and pulled the blanket up about her shoulders, preparing herself for questions that didn't come.

"How do you feel?"

"Like someone was beating me with a baseball bat last night. You know—the usual."

Roger began to reply, but paused with his mouth hanging open. She turned her head to see what he was looking at. Mark had wandered uncertainly from the bathroom and was hovering at the edge of the room.

"Come or go, Mark," she suggested petulantly.

He chose the former, drifting to the counter to pour himself a cup of coffee. He looked a mess—there were bags beneath his eyes and a certain sluggish attribute to his movements.

"Marky?" Her voice came out smaller and more timid than she had expected it to. When he looked up at her slowly over his steaming cup of coffee, she was biting her lip. A flash of concern flashed before his eyes but he replaced it with a look of detachment.

"What?"

"You alright?"

"Yeah. Fine," he recited, before adding, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Hey, uh, guys. I… gotta go," Roger interrupted suddenly, grabbing an unsuspecting Mimi and pulling her from the room.

Maureen patted the couch beside her and Mark promptly sat next to her, looking glad to have a place to be.

"I—you…" she trailed off, unsure what to say.

"I'm fine, really, Maureen."

"Mark, you look like hell," she countered.

Sighing slightly, he agreed. "I 'spose I do." When she didn't respond, he added, "Really, I'm okay. Uh, late night. And, erm…" She saw a bit of red flush into his cheeks.

"Look, Mark, I'm sorry. I don't know what the hell I was thinking. I really like you, but—I love Joanne. It was… I was drunk, and…"

He glanced at her then, looking both sad and relieved. "It's okay, Reeny. It was. I shouldn't have. You were upset, I'm sorry."

"Look, it wasn't your fault. I'm sorry. Just—" She struggled to say the next words. "I need a place to stay."

"Of course, Maureen. You always have a place here."

- - -

She didn't know exactly how much time had passed, or what exactly had happened in the past few weeks. Blurred images of dimly lit bars and white porcelain toilets flashed in her mind whenever she attempted to remember. But it made her head pound whenever she did, so she no longer tried.

"Damn it Maureen." She kept her eyes closed, feigning sleep, unprepared to face the day. "Maureen, get up!" Mark cried, exasperated.

"Whatchoo want…?" she muttered sleepily.

"All you do is sleep these days," he said sardonically, before muttering under his breath, "and get drunk."

She opened her mouth to argue, but it was true. The drunk part, anyway… She stumbled off to the bathroom, getting sick.

She emerged a few minutes later, wiping her eyes. "Got some water?"

Mark handed her a glass. "Really, this has to stop."

Suddenly she paused with the glass halfway to her mouth. "I didn't drink last night."

"What?" he asked skeptically, not really considering her words.

"I went on a walk with Mimi, and we had a talk. Mark Cohen, do _not _look at me like that! I'm telling the truth. I'm just tired."

He raised his eyebrows pointedly.

"And sick?" she added feebly.

"THE Maureen Johnson doesn't get sick."

"I know, I don't need reminding." She turned her gaze wistfully to the window. "I'm going back to bed."


End file.
